Untamed
by SniperCT
Summary: After the battle of Hyjal, three unlikely friends part What becomes of the firs to leave? First written in
1. Darkshore

Behind them, Hyjal still smokes, and before them a tree rises from the ocean, still growing, but growing fast, unnaturally so, the newly planted Teledrassil. They sit on the beach, a fire crackling and tinting them with orange red. There are three, a Kaldorei maid and two human women.

One woman's hair is a dark red, and she idly plays with a strand as they talk. The shorter one's hair is dyed a dark purple, inspired, perhaps, by the Kaldorei sitting across from them. The humans sit side by side. The elf's skin is a purple pink, and her hair is violet hued. She sits, her legs pulled up to her chest and watches them, resting her head on her arms and her arms on her knees. Her common clearly still needs work, "Going back then?"

"Aye, tha' I am." The woman who spoke smiles grimly. She pulls her glasses down, green eyes peering at the elf over the rims, "Yukale, keep an'eye on Trynn 'ere, can yeh? She'll be hangin' 'round a bit longer, aye?"

Trynn nods.

"Bloody scourge no'down, no'yet," She continues, standing. "Best catch me a ship."

"Tyra, you don't have to go."

"But I do. Yeh understand it? Yeh fought for yeh home, I fight for mine." She continues to watch over the brim of her glasses as Yukale looks away at the ground, "I be no'afraid, nothin' wrong with it though. An'yeh no'ave to fight for mine, lost enough, did enough. World be grateful, for now at least. Give time enough though an' all that petty bickerin' starts anew."

"I'll go," Trynn says. "I can still smell the orcs. I want to get away from that."

The rogue frowns, hugging her legs, mumbling in her own language.

"Wha' was tha' Yuka?"

"Just saying..I'll come find you both."

"Nothin' to be afraid of."

"Scourge," Trynn says.

Tyra shoots a look at her, "Well, aye..."

"Blackrock horde."

"Shu'the bloody 'ell up you ruby'aired tart!"

"You said there was nothing to be afraid of I'm just pointing out-"

"I get it I get it," Yukale interrupts. "But there is something to be afraid of. Don't want to lose you, too."

"Bullpies!" Tyra points at them both, "Already told yeh both, I'm tougher than I look."

"All five feet of you," Trynn retorts.

"Shut it."

"Besides, I'm not the one who died her hair. Mine is natural."

"An'yeh pamper it like it were yeh kid!"

"It deserves the best!"

Yukale bursts out laughing, "I'll miss this."

"Trynn's optimism?"

"Tyra's boasting?"

The two look at each other, then join Yukale in laughing. Ten minutes pass, as each time one would stop laughing they'd share a look with another and start laughing again. Yukale is the last one to stop as they fall into an easy silence, staring at the dwindling fire.

She speaks softly, "Tyra, you said that your grandmother called you 'untamed' once. Do you think that's true?"

"Might be," She replies. "Me da' could never keep me in line and no man hold me down for long."

She slings her pack over her shoulder, running long fingers through her hair. She then adjusted her glasses and looked at both her friends for an extended time, "I'll see yeh both. Tha' a promise."

"Holding you to it," Yukale replies. "I'll hold you both to it."

Grinning, Tyra turns, jogging off. She had a long trip ahead of her, for no ships made regular trips here yet, and she had to go all the way to Theramore. But, it would be fun.

As she disappeared over the horizon, they could make out her singing;

_"Untamed 'n darkness 'n Shadow fall_  
_lost t'shinin' light_  
_Answerin' the Siren's call_  
_Wha' once was wrong made right_

_Under shinin' moon footsteps fall_  
_The sky eternal night_  
_Across great seas the homeland calls_  
_The land is scarred in blight_

_Shoulders squared and standin' tall_  
_Blue sky as far as sight_  
_Grey gulls cry out their call_  
_For there are wrongs t'make right."_


	2. Rebirth

Scourge, everywhere, an endless sea, and for every one of the defenders that fell their numbers grew stronger. And there were so few defenders left at the moment, the Alliance having declared 'victory' with Arthas silent to the north and the Legion defeated in Kalimdor. The human kingdoms licked their wounds and prepared, so all that remained were the stubborn and the brave, the foolish and the stupid, the desperate, fighting a war already 'won.'

It had been long months since Tyra had returned to her homeland, and gone to defend friend and family in Lordareon. Long months of fighting and survival that brought back memories of the desperation in the last days of the Third war. But this was so much worse, for it dragged on and on and on and on. And then it was finally over.

It didn't hurt as much as she'd expected. Dying, that is. She lay there, blood pouring from her body like so much excess, coughs wracking her chest and she _knew_. The scourge swarmed her and there was a voice.

They didn't just break her body, they broke her _mind_. She struggled, she screamed voicelessly, clinging desperately terrified to images and memories, trying to retain any sense of her self. But they were torn from her and shredded, burned like a painting in a fire and gradually there came only blackness, save images of fighting and dying and the consumption of flesh. And always, always that voice.

So it went. Until one day, the voice stopped, and she grew afraid. Hours became a day, and suddenly she was attacked by things much like herself, yet unlike her. She fought instinctivly, living instincts in an unliving body, but they were far stronger. A club thudded hollowly against her skull.

There came a voice, but this was different. It called to her, beckoned her. She felt it prodding, challenging, berating. And with a scream, she found herself again, tattered memories and shattered soul, but she found herself. She remembered..some things. Faces and memories, but names escaped her.

That voice overlapped with one from her memories, "_Tyra, you said your grandmother called you untamed._"

"Might be," She rasps, talking for the first time since before she can remember, pulling together threads of memories and piecing together the shattered puzzle. There were faces, and she would find them.

"Take a new name," The voice says, alone without memories now. "For you are the same yet different. Broken yet never tamed. Tyra died in the Plaguelands and Thira is born Forsaken. Forget the past."

Tyra's face split into a grim smile as the voice departed, "No. Be no forgettin'. Be no forgettin' so long as I got me soul. Tha' Elf be right, tha' voice be right. Can break me, but can't tame me, and pray t'light or t'darkness that yeh don't stand in me way. Me name be Tyra, and I decide if I take a new one or no."

Another long journey awaited her, and she hummed softly, words swimming through her head;

_Brought to darkness broken  
shattered light  
a soft voice spoken_

Spear raised tall  
sword glint of steel  
broken, but I shall not fall.


End file.
